The Rally that Never, Ever Quit
by Thalion Estel
Summary: A certain elven lord has closely followed the progress of his favorite baseball team throughout their impossible year. Now it comes down to the end of the line: the final, deciding game of the season. Can the players make the special fan's battle cry of "aurë entuluva" into a reality? A one-shot in the "Rally" series. Contains a special guest star: Thalion Estel!


**Author's Note: Alright; here's my last story in the** _ **Rally**_ **series for a while. This one is not only based on a real game, but I was able to actually GO to this game. It was…well, I'll let you read about the experience. I couldn't resist putting a cameo of myself into the story, since I was there and all. I hope that makes it even more fun! Please don't forget to leave me a review!**

 **. . .**

Being in the upper deck was not quite as nice as sitting directly behind the dugout, but tickets to this game had been hard to come by, and the stranger still considered this a good seat. It did give a better view of the field when one was high above it. The Ballpark sat in the light of the afternoon sun, a few wispy clouds being blown across the pale blue sky. It was a beautiful day.

The stands were not very loud at this point; the Ranges weren't losing by much, but the innings were running out. If they were going to win this game—if they were going to make it with a sure spot to the playoffs—they would have to pull themselves together and manage more than the single run they had scored way back in the first inning.

The stranger was comforted in the fact that the Angels had also been largely unproductive after hitting a two run homer in the first inning, and the Ranger's pitcher, Hamels, seemed to have found a good rhythm. This game was vital, and the whole crowd was nervous, but there was no reason the Rangers couldn't get ahead.

As the bottom of the fifth inning began, the stranger chanced a glance to his right at the family which was sitting next to him. He had been somewhat impressed with the girl nearest him as she cheered enthusiastically for all the players and never got upset on account of any out. She was fairly young, perhaps in college, but she seemed to know a lot more about the game and the team than most girls that age. She looked up from a conversation and met the stranger's eyes for a moment, a flicker of something like recognition passing over her face before she simply smiled and began talking to her companion again. The stranger wondered if they had ever seen each other before; she did seem a bit familiar.

The first Ranger batter of the inning grounded out, but the second reached on a single. The crowd cheered their approval, all knowing that it was imperative to simply get someone on base. The importance of the game was growing heavier and heavier on the stands every minute; this was the pinnacle of the season, and the Rangers had to come through.

Fielder was next, but he only added another out to the inning, quieting the fans and dampening the hope. Two outs with a man on first didn't really mean that much, but then again, Beltré was the one now up to bat. As always, the stands issued a loud cheer for him as he came to the plate, and the stranger heard the girl beside him screaming the batter's name over and over with enthusiasm. She looked like she wanted the game more than the players, and this being said without any question of the Rangers' desire to win.

The at bat dragged on for a little while, each pitch drawing a reaction of anxiety from the girl beside the stranger. She was almost as entertaining to watch as the baseball below, and the stranger was tempted to talk to her. But before he made that decision, a loud crack filled the air and the fans rose to their feet. Beltré had drilled his pitch to right field, the ball going back to the wall. Time seemed to slow as the roar of hope filled the air. Surely it would fall and be caught! But perhaps by the grace of Providence, it stayed up and just barely cleared the wall, a home run.

The Ballpark went absolutely insane. The noise was deafening, and the crowd was issuing rounds of high-fives with people they didn't even know. The girl to the stranger's side raised her hand towards him, and he obliged, slapping her palm with a small grin. She appeared to be on the verge of tears—tears of joy, of course. The stranger dipped his head to her and focused his attention back onto the field below just as Beltré cross home plate and made for the dugout.

So, the Rangers had taken the lead. Was this enough to give any sort of security? Absolutely not. But it was a big step from losing, and hopefully Texas would manage some more insurance. For now, it was most important that the Angels be kept from getting any runs.

Hamels did exactly what he needed to do, prohibiting the Anaheim batters from even manage one hit for the next two innings. The score was still precarious, but the Angels were running low on innings to get something started. After the seventh inning stretch, the team's choice of catcher for this game, Gimenez, entered the batter's box, feeling the tension of the game and the importance that was riding on the next few at bats. They needed some additional offense, and the best way to get more runs was to be patient and smart.

Facing the first Angel relief pitcher of the day, Gimenez managed to draw a walk. Next was DeShields, who hit what would have been a sacrifice bunt for a slow player but what his swift legs made into an infield hit. The Angels, not wanting the struggling pitcher to face Choo with two men on and no outs, put in another reliever who promptly walked Choo. Bases loaded for Fielder.

The entire Ballpark rose to its feet, the stranger included. His fists were clenched as the pitch count reached three balls and two strikes. Just before the final pitch, he heard above the din that the girl beside him leaned over to her companion and predicted that the Angels would walk in a run. The stranger didn't dare to hope for something as easy at that, but it wasn't like the pitching was doing very well.

The stranger was proved wrong as ball four crossed the plate, followed a few seconds later by Gimenez, who trotted over happily from third base. 4-2 Rangers, and the crowd went crazy again. Not only was that another run added, but the bases were still full and there were still no outs. The Angels again changed their pitcher as Beltré came up to bat. The people in the stands did not sit down.

" _Aurë entuluva_!" the stranger called as Beltré wound up his bat. The girl standing beside the stranger glanced up in surprise, again looking over him as if she had some vague notion of who he was.

"What did you say?" she inquired hesitantly.

"It's just something my…friends used to say," he answered, trying not to lie but staying as far away from the incomprehensible truth as he could. This girl would probably have her mind blown if he actually told her about it.

"But what was it you said?" she pressed. "I feel like it's something I know about."

The stranger chuckled and shook his head. "Not likely," he answered, turning away.

"So it doesn't mean 'day shall come again', I suppose," she said quietly, almost as if to herself.

Now it was the stranger's turn to whip his gaze back to the girl and stare her down. He would have begun an interrogation right there and then, but Beltré's bat slamming into a ball and the roar of the crowd drew all attention back to the field. Beltré had hit a bouncing ball to the third baseman, but it would have taken a superb skill for the Angel to be able to secure it and make a play. There was no throw, and the bases remained loaded. The only difference was the score, which now read 5-2.

The stands were screaming again, and the girl beside the stranger ventured to give her own call of " _aurë entuluva_ ", eyeing the stranger so as to provoke questions. His mouth gaped for a moment, but then he assured himself that perhaps she had sat near the dugout last season when he had given his speech before the comeback. Still, he wanted to know for sure.

"Where did you hear that?" he finally inquired.

She crossed her arms. "I asked you first," she insisted.

He sighed and shook his head, smiling despite it all. "Like I said, my friends said it. One in particular," he answered vaguely, though his expression grew more sober as he recalled to mind the instance in which his "friend" has uttered those words. The girl wasn't impressed.

"So how do you know what it means if it's your friends that you heard it from?" she questioned, narrowing her eyes. But then she laughed and leaned back. "You realize this isn't a bad thing, right? It's pretty cool that we both know about such a rare little phrase."

The stranger gave a half-hearted chuckle. "Sure. But how is that you know about it?"

The girl considered the question, frowning. "Technically you never adequately answered me, but I'll humor you. I read it in a story, and I like to apply to my Rangers. It seems to give hope pretty well."

The stranger was taken aback. "We are alike, then," he said softly after a long pause.

Another loud crack echoed through the Ballpark, reminding the stranger of the still-tense game below. Moreland had belted the ball to right field, not for a hit but a sacrifice fly ball. Choo tagged third and sprinted for home, sliding in safe. 6-2.

The girl gave a yell of appreciation, issuing another round of high-fives with those sitting near her. The game was looking better and better, and the inning wasn't even over yet. The stranger examined the bases, having forgotten who was still on, and saw that a pinch runner was going in for Fielder. That put men on first and second, one out. More runs could be made here.

The crowd was now almost tired of standing, but no one hoped to sit down. The cry of anticipation grew nearly to a climax as Hamilton stepped into the batter's box, the girl seeming to give an even louder call of encouragement than any previous yell. The stranger had no trouble hearing her, both as she screamed and as she muttered prayers under her breath.

Hamilton smacked the ball into center field, scoring Beltré. Again, the air was filled with gleeful screams. Again, the scoreboard tacked on another run. Again, the girl yelled out " _aurë entuluva_ ".

This was an awesome game. And the inning still wasn't over.

The stranger's favorite shortstop was next, Andrus, and he looked determined to avoid an upset like yesterday's awful game. It only took a few pitches before he drilled one to deep left field, the ball being only a few feet away from the foul line. The outfielder chased it down, but by the time he picked it up and threw it back, Andrus was the only one still on base. 9-2.

The stranger concluded that "pandemonium" was the best word to describe the atmosphere around him. This inning was simply unbelievable—no one could have predicted that this would happen. And even though the game wasn't over…the Angels were clearly done. They didn't appear to have it in them to comeback from this, and for a moment, the stranger pitied them.

The crowds decided that they had stood long enough, so as the Angels yet again changed their pitcher, the thousands of fans again sat down, though now with much happier expressions than when they had last been sitting.

From that moment on, the game seemed to fly by. The Angels did require another pitching change before finally getting out of the seventh inning, making the total for those three outs to be five relievers. The Rangers finished the inning with Gimenez, the same one who had started the whole thing.

When Hamels finally came to the mound, he kept the pace fast. Not one more batter reached base that game, and he never required any Ranger pitcher to emerge from the bullpen, earning himself a complete game with only three hits allowed. The last batter he faced was the same man who had earned himself lifelong contempt from Texas when he stole what would have been their first World Series in 2011. It was fitting that his ground out was the final play of the game, the completion of the season, and the securing of the Ranger's title. They had won the AL West.

As soon as the out was recorded, the players mobbed the mound and dumped everything they could find onto Hamels. The crowds just stood, screaming and screaming and screaming. The girl at the stranger's right grabbed her closest companion in a tight hug and shook her like a rag doll, absolutely ecstatic. Fireworks shot off all around the Ballpark, and a huge pennant was draped over one of the decks above center field, proclaiming the Ranger's newly acquired victory. The scene was glorious.

In the quietness of his cool mind, the stranger contemplated what he was witnessing. He recalled when, at the season's beginning, he had heard someone declaring that since the Rangers obvious had absolute no chance of contending, they should trade away someone like Beltré and start building up for the future, when they might actually have a good team. Thank the Valar that the Rangers had not taken heed of such hopeless, poor advice! Instead, the new manager had instilled into the team a motto his father had taught him, one that would become the banner of the organization: never, ever quit.

Well, the Rangers had never, ever quit, and now they had won their division and were headed to the playoffs. The entire season had been a rally; they had fought with every fiber of their being game after game, through injury and loss and lack of support, and here they were. _Utúlie'n aurë_ ; the day has come.

Looking back to the field, the stranger saw that someone had just wheeled up a cart full of ginger ale, which the players were already opening and dumping all over each other. There would undoubtedly be champagne in the clubhouse, but for Hamilton's sake, the Rangers chose soda for the initial celebration. They had extended this kindness to Hamilton several times, and the stranger would never stop being impressed by it. These guys held each other up; that's why they were a good team.

The players' families were now streaming onto the field along with several reporters. The stranger remembered his commitment to Andrus from the previous game, and he knew this might be his best chance to get on the field. Thus he moved to depart, but the girl stopped him just before he'd entered the aisle.

" _Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo_ ," she told him in perfect Quenya. The stranger gawked at her for a moment before she leaned forward, looked around to see if others were listening, and then whispered, "I'm one of the Elendili." She drew back and smiled. "I'd bet a five nice reviews that you're Maglor. I can't believe I didn't see it sooner! This is the first time I've run into one of my muses at a ballgame."

The stranger stammered, something he had not done in millennia. He could not follow what the girl was saying at all, but somehow she actually knew his identity and could speak at least one phase in the tongue of the High Elves. And she also claimed to be an elf-friend. None of that made any sense: she was a young mortal child, who didn't look to have a drop of elven blood in her veins. She seemed to sense his complete bewilderment, and although she offered no immediate explanation, she did not leaving him utterly answerless.

"We'll talk later," she told him. "I have connections. Now go; I think they're waiting for you."

This still didn't make sense to the stranger, and in fact it made the whole thing even more confusing, but somehow he knew that he should go and that he probably would see her again. His questions could be asked then. He nodded and walked out of the stands to the escalator, working his way down to the ground level. Fortunately there was not a lot of foot traffic; all the fans were still standing transfixed in the bleachers.

Finally, he arrived in the area of seats right behind the dugout. The stranger jogged past the rows of chairs until he had reached the railing, and then he leapt over it and blended with the big crowd on the field as quickly as he possibly could. Either security hadn't seen him or, more likely, the same guard from yesterday had been on duty and had let him go, knowing something sanctioned was afoot.

Once he was sure that no one was about to pursue and arrest him, the stranger fought through the small crowd until he spotted Andrus. He planned to wait until the said player was finished celebrating before confronting him, but Andrus looked up from one of his many ongoing conversations and saw the stranger. That erased any other course of action, whether the stranger liked it or not.

"Hey!" Andrus called excited, immediately running through the meandering people until he collided full on into the stranger, giving him what might have been the biggest embrace in which the stranger had ever taken part.

"What, are you trying to squeeze the life out of me?" the stranger asked with a chuckle, though in truth he was short of breath. After thinking about what he had just said, it struck him how open and casual he had become with the Rangers.

"And if I am?" Andrus shouted above the noise of glad chaos. "We're champions! What are you gonna do?"

The stranger laughed merrily this time, throwing reservation in the wind. "Oh, I can't believe what I'm seeing," he said, his eyes blazing forth their former glory. "Only one year ago, we could not have been further from this moment."

Andrus nodded almost soberly—almost. "But _aurë entuluva_ ," he declared with a wide smile. "Never give up hope!"

Next thing he knew, the stranger was being doused in ginger ale from the bottle clutched in Andrus' hand, and although he would never have expected it and didn't find it very pleasurable, he laughed with the shortstop.

"Josh, Mitch, Prince, AB; guys get over here!" Andrus yelled to his teammates. "We got us a special guest!"

Fortunately for the stranger, Andrus wasn't able to rally everyone at once; that would have proven too much attention, and no doubt the media would have caught on and recorded something. But instead, the stranger got little pockets of players as time went on, getting to meet some for the first time and embrace others that he had seen before. It brought him back to his days as a ruler and commander; he felt more purposeful than he had in thousands of years.

At last, the players raced through the dugout down into the clubhouse to continue the celebration. All except Hamilton, who took a right instead of a left as be descended the stairs. The stranger knew this would happen, but he decided that he wanted to give one last farewell to the outfielder before leaving, so after a minute or two he quickly slipped past security, who had already their hands full, and ventured into the training room.

When the stranger quietly passed through the doorway, he saw that Hamilton was just pulling out of a hug with one of the trainers, who was clearly giving the player some thanks and support. But once Hamilton had turned to face the stranger, the elf was surprised to see the left-fielder's cheeks streaked with tears. At first, the stranger thought he'd made a mistake in coming, but Hamilton didn't seem embarrassed—the only emotion evident was intense joy.

"It's a good day, isn't it?" Hamilton asked the stranger, wiping his face with the back of his hand and smiling even more brightly.

"Indeed," the stranger replied, himself giving a warm grin. He stepped forward and put his right hand on Hamilton's shoulder, letting out a sigh of contentment. "I am so glad to have you back with the Rangers," the stranger stated quietly. "This day means so much more with you on the team."

"Why?" Hamilton inquired.

"Because your life is a real example of the power of hope," the stranger declared in a clear voice. "I think you once said 'I'm proof that hope is never lost'. You're not perfect, and you make mistakes, but you're carried along by a living hope greater than yourself. I mean, if that doesn't summarize this season for the Rangers, what does?"

Hamilton gave a solemn sort of smile and pulled the stranger into a close embrace. "Thanks," the outfielder breathed through a sob. "Thinking back on this year, on the relapse, on all the mistakes I've made and pain I've caused—I just can't believe how blessed I am to be here."

The stranger felt tears prick his own eyes. What had he himself done to be graced with this honor? Hamilton had done many bad things, but next to the stranger, he looked like a perfect saint. There were thousands upon thousands who had fallen by the sword as a result of Maglor's actions. Whether their deaths were inadvertently his fault or not, the stranger bore the blame. And yet here he was, alive and well and…happy.

So much grace thanks to so great a hope.

 **. . .**

 **Did you like it? I hope so; there are not words for what it was like to actually be there in that moment. I gave you all the details I could; even the scene with Josh Hamilton at the end actually happened (minus Maglor, of course). The quote is really his, too. I thought it might be fun for you guys to actually see the events you just read about, so I looked on YouTube until I found a short video that contains most of the highlights I mentioned in the story; feel free to watch it. It's called "10/4/15: Rangers clinch AL West behind Hamels' gem" and is posted by MLB if you're interested (I may or may not have happily cried while watching it).**

 **Well, I suppose you might be wondering what happened in the playoffs. That is a tale of unspeakable woe, and I would have written about the final game but for a few reasons. First, Maglor has already offered the kind of encouragement the players would have needed, so it would be a repeat more or less. Second, and most importantly, if he had attended that game, Maglor would have undoubtedly been arrested for letting righteous indignation spur him to act against the, er,** _ **attitude**_ **of the Toronto crowd (a spectacle I have named The Canadian Disgrace of 2015, which included throwing things onto the field, splattering infants with beer, several arrests, and attempted harassment of my Rangers in the dugout). You might have heard about it on the news back when it happened halfway through October; it was a pathetic display of contempt on the part of a MINORTIY (I'm not stereotyping all Canadians or Toronto fans here) of Blue Jays fans.**

 **But while we lost and did not go to the World Series, I want to brag on Beltré for a second. He strained his back in our first playoff game, but he still drove in a run WITH the injury, only leaving the game when the manager basically dragged him out. Then he played hurt a few days later, unable to jog or even tie his shoes but still making plays at third base and getting more hits than most other players. AND we learned that for more than half the season, he's been playing with a torn thumb ligament. Torn! The man is like a 21** **st** **century baseball Húrin if ever there was one. ;) In fact, he's been great that I have a LotR fic coming soon that is inspired by his endurance.**

 **So, we haven't won the World Series yet, but this season was a great victory as we went from the very bottom to the very top. My Rangers never, ever quit. I have very high hopes for next year, and I eagerly await cheering them on when baseball starts back up again.**

 _ **Aurë Entuluva!**_


End file.
